Scarlet on Black
by obsidian butterfly2
Summary: A silent hero in the night, a desperate girl looking for hope. Is this the beginning of a beautiful romance?
1. Scarlet

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. All original characters and situations belong to me.

**SCARLET** __

There was no man in her bed this morning,

He'd left some time in the night.

No one during breakfast was calling,

They'd known she'd be all right.

But all she had left were her scarlet robes,

Heavy and binding on her skin.

All she wanted was another go,

The excuses were wearing so thin.

She wanted another life, 

Another chance, another stab. 

A life where she wasn't getting fucked 

In the back of an unmarked cab. 

Stretched on the bed in a torn crimson dress,

She thought back to when she was free.

No expectations, no need to fit in,

Back when she could just be.

The first drops segued into her gown,

Running out over the sharp knife.

Dripping down onto the crisp white sheets,

Writing out the tale of her life.

There was no man in her bed that morning,

They always left some time in the night.

No one knew she lay on her deathbed smiling,

They hadn't known she wasn't all right.

Blaise sat shivering on the kitchen stool, hands wrapped tightly round a cup of coffee. Her bandaged arms stood out pale against her dark outfit. The radio sang out to her, chilling her with its words. That was her song, her dance, her act. Been there, done that, had the scars to show. Except the scars hadn't healed yet.

She should have been dead. She tried to die. But she didn't, hadn't. Someone had come in and saved her. As she lay bleeding on her sheets, someone had broken into her private sanctuary, swore at her, ripped her sheets and tied her slashed arms. An anonymous figure had come in and pulled her back from the brink, reached over the precipice and hauled over, saved her. And she couldn't even say thank you.

All she remembered was black, a fleeting image of a dark man wearing unrelieved black. She couldn't tell if the clothes were muggle or wizard, she had lost far too much blood by that stage. She couldn't remember his face, much less a name, had he given it. All she recalled was his low melodious voice, shouting at her, arguing with himself, murmuring to her that she'd be all right. So she would start looking, based on a sound and a colour.

She had asked the hospital staff if a man had come with her in the ambulance, if there was a man in her apartment who'd called them. She was met with confused expressions and vows to check with the ambulance staff. They too didn't know, hadn't seen anyone at the scene. Maybe, they said, it was a hallucination brought on by blood loss. Knowing glances were exchanged above her head. She remained silent.

The coffee was still warm, clutched in her icy hands. She drank it slowly, savouring the taste, as she always did. Before, everything was numb and cold. But now, now there was something burning inside her, a tiny flickering flame, spluttering and coughing as she protected it. Now she had a purpose, something to do as she stepped out into the winter morning air. Gathering her leather trench tighter around her and pulling her hat down, she set out to find her rescuer. He had saved her, somehow he'd known. Now she had to find him, thank him. He had come in that night, not as another nameless face in her bed, not for her body, her alcohol, but for her. The person beneath the designer clothes, the perfect makeup. She knew that instinctively. Just as she now knew she had to find him, save him, return the favour that would bind her to him forever.


	2. Black

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. All original characters and situations belong to me.

**BLACK** __

I took a walk around the world to ease my troubled mind   
I left my body laying somewhere in the sands of time.   
I watched the world float to the dark side of the moon.   
I feel there is nothing I can do, yeah.   
  
I watched the world float to the dark side of the moon   
After all I knew it had to be something to do with you   
I really don't mind what happens now and then   
As long as you'll be my friend in the end.   
  
If I go crazy then will you still call me Superman?   
If I'm alive and well, will you be there holding my hand   
I'll keep you by my side with my superhuman might   
Kryptonite.   
  
You called me strong, you called me weak, but still your secrets I will keep   
You took for granted all the times I never let you down.   
You stumbled in and bumped your head, if not for me then you would be dead.   
I picked you up and put you back on solid ground.   
  
If I go crazy then will you still call me Superman?   
If I'm alive and well, will you be there holding my hand   
I'll keep you by my side with my superhuman might   
Kryptonite. Yeah, yeah, yeah.   
  
If I go crazy then will you still call me Superman?   
If I'm alive and well, will you be there holding my hand   
I'll keep you by my side with my superhuman might   
Kryptonite.

(Kryptonite – 3 Doors Down)

Sirius sat back in his soft leather armchair, coffee cup balanced on his knee, supported by a hand. He hadn't wanted to become involved. It wasn't his problem, his concern. Yet…yet he was drawn to her. A moth drawn to her flame, the irresistible temptation of her life. He knew she was trouble, the moment she moved into the apartment opposite his own. He knew her Death Eater parents; he was their classmate, dammit.

So what happened? Damned if he knew. There was something that called him that night, an urge he could not explain. He just knew that he had to go to her apartment. He'd seen a man exit earlier, different from the one the night before, who was in turn, different from his predecessor. Shaking his head, he banished thoughts of Blaise's sexual partners from his mind.

Now where was he before he got sidetracked? Ah yes, that night. He picked her lock (a skill made necessary through years on the run) and entered her apartment, not sure what he was expecting. Whatever it was, it couldn't possibly compete with reality for vividness. He found her in her bedroom, wearing a scarlet cocktail dress. Normal, yes, in a way, except for the blood seeping from angry cuts on her arms. It was darkening her dress, soiling her pure white sheets, the violent stain speaking of a passionate crime.

He froze when he saw her lying there, gasping through her smile. His mind was unable to process the reality of the scene which lay before him. Then, time restarted and he rushed forward to her side. 'You stupid stupid girl. How could you be so foolish?' he asked her harshly as he ripped her stiff sheets to make temporary bandages. 'What are you doing here?' he asked himself, 'Why did you come? What did you expect?' He didn't want to rescue any more damsels in distress. James had, look where he was now. Six feet under, with his perfect princess by his side. 'If she wants to die, why am I stopping her?' How much he had said, he didn't know.

Tying the strips of cloth around her arms securely, he pulled her limp body into his lap, trying to warm her cool with his own body heat. Whispering to her like he would to a baby, he coaxed her breathing and heart rate slower. Her long black eyelashes fluttered against her blue-tinged skin as she forced them open.

"Black," she whispered, her voice thick and forced. Sirius froze, wondering how she could have possibly known. "You wear all black," he relaxed. Her eyes were dark and liquid as they tried and failed to focus. "There's so much scarlet," she started again, looking down where she was positioned on his lap. She giggled softly, "Scarlet on black."

He hushed her, not wanting her to further drain herself. Calling an ambulance using the muggle phone, he half-rose to leave. A weak hand clutched his coat, halting him abruptly. "Don't go," she whispered, "don't leave me." He sank down again. Her next question caught him off guard. "Am I beautiful?" she murmured plaintively, huge dark eyes beseeching. She shifted her position on his lap, sending a lance of pure lust through his body. He moved, uncomfortable with her proximity and disgusted with himself. "Yes," he whispered back, stroking her hair, "you are." She smiled slightly. "Hold me. Be there in the morning. I want…" she trailed off, but her half-completed phrase had a profound effect on Sirius. He berated himself severely. _ 'Obviously, the girl didn't know what she was saying, she's near to death from blood loss and you get turned on?'_ he thought in the privacy of his mind. _ 'You are one sick freak.'_

Sirius could not stay any longer after that. He would not be able to live with himself. Laying her gently on her damaged bed, he forced himself to ignore her faint protesting moan as he let go. She had trusted him blindly and innocently, and he had violated her in his mind. For her sake, and his, he had to leave.

He returned to his empty silent apartment and watched from the window as the ambulance pulled up, stretchered her out. He didn't sleep for the rest of that night, instead drank endless cups of coffee and thought of the scarlet-clad child he had saved.

Late in the morning, she had returned to her apartment, arms bandaged in snowy white casts. He saw her battling with the key and wanted to go to help her, but stopped himself when she succeeded in opening the door. There was no further movement through her threshold that day.

Another sleepless night for him, sitting before the flickering fire drinking his bitter black coffee. Watching the door opposite his through the window. He was empty inside, void and dark where his soul had once existed. He needed, he realised in that dark good night, that he was as much in need of salvation as Blaise-across-the-corridor was.

She stepped out the next morning, a leather trench covering her arms. There was a new fire in her eyes, and more weight in each of her steps, her shiny red stiletto boots peeking out of her coat. Sirius wondered what had changed in her, what was fuelling her now, and sent a futile prayer to God that it was him.


End file.
